10 Song Drabbles
by Sherlock Blogger
Summary: A Tibbs fic for a challenge of music shuffle drabbles.
1. Chapter 1

**Challenge fic:**

**1.** Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.

**2.** Turn your music player on and turn it on random/shuffle.

**3.** Write a drabble/ficlet related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterwards!

**4.** Do ten of these, then post them.

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><p><strong>Title:<strong> Ten of One

**Fandom:** NCIS

**Pairing:** Gibbs/DiNozzo

**Rating:** T, for some dark themes

**Summary:** Ten drabbles of one pairing.

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><p><strong>1: Every Breath You Take - The Police -<strong>

The bullpen at NCIS isn't exactly the most romantic, interesting, or scenic place in DC. With it;s orange walls and gigantic skylight roof, it's a noisy place of hustle and bustle. Agents move to and fro on cases, handling sensitive files, and yet, taking the time to stop and say hi to one another.

The main bullpen of the building is occupied by four agents, isolated at their own little island desks. Timothy McGee, resident nerd, Ziva David, ex-Mossad agent, Anthony DiNozzo, Senior Field Agent, and their leader, Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Gibbs is the quite type, the no nonsense man who gets things done or makes sure everyone faces the consequences.

He's a loner by nature since the death of his wife and daughter, and emotional inaccessible to those around him. Or at least, that used to be the case. For the past three years, he's found himself more open, energetic, and all around human than he had been for the past decade. And there was one reason for it, and one reason alone.

He glances over the top of his computer, watching the younger man who's desk is always directly in his line of sight. From this vantage point, Gibbs can see everything; every flirtation, every smile, every movement, and he covets the one who gives them.

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><p><strong>2: Shadow of the Day - Linkin Park -<strong>

Anthony DiNozzo, playboy extraordinaire, is standing atop the roof access of his apartment building. It's Friday afternoon, the team is on call for the weekend, but had been released early today. He knows that he should be out cultivating his weekend with some hot blond that has endless legs and very little personality. But look at what happened with his last attempt? He had hooked up with some mousy little barista at his Boss' favorite coffeehouse, and the woman had decided after one night that he was 'the one.' Talk about a freak out! And it's not as if he could really walk up and tell her that the only reason he had agreed to that date was because in some strange, twisted way, it was a step closer to the one he really wants.

Yeah, that would go over -real- well. She'd probably go straight to Gibbs and Tony would be lucky if they ever found his body. Gibbs would kill him, and then Abby would help hide his body, ensuring that no one would ever find him. He would deserve no less. It was not right for him to have feelings for the older man. Not because the word -man- figured into it, but because, well, it's Gibbs. The man's a freakin' -God- or something! All suave, mysterious and dark.

Tony casts his gaze out, watching the sun sink beneath the horizon of trees in the small park across from his apartment building. He glances down where his hand is gripping the edge of the building, and he smiles. Gibbs is like the shadows of the waning day .. perfect for those few moments, and yet, truly unattainable.

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><p><strong>3: Star of the County Down - Slainte -<strong>

Abby is getting married today. That's something that no one on the team ever thought to see the day of. She was a spitfire that had too much fun with the single life to ever consider settling down. And yet, someone had finally roped her into matrimony. Leroy Jethro Gibbs would be giving her away today, standing as her Best Man even as Tony stands as Best Man for the groomsman .. no other than Timothy McGee.

Gibbs never thought he'd see the day. Sure, everyone knew that McGee was head over heels for their gothy Forensics Specialist, but Abby had always shrugged it off as if it was nothing special. Until the day McGee stopped pursuing her. It was like a lightening bolt had gone off inside the goth. The two had been inseparable ever since.

Once the bride has been escorted down the aisle, Gibbs kisses her cheek and steps to her side, standing straight across from his Senior Field Agent. The introduction by the Pastor goes unheeded, Gibbs thoughts a million miles away. Well, actually, just a feet away. Tony looks so handsome in his pressed Armani tux, immaculate as ever. It's moments like these that cause Gibbs' heart to flutter, that bring a jolt of happiness entwined with pain, to his being. Why can't he just say the words? Why can't he just march right up to the younger man and tell him the truth! It's not as if he's never been rejected before. He could handle that .. right?

The people are up on their feet, applause ripping through the place. Gibbs' eyes focus, and he realizes that it's over; Abby and McGee are married. His gaze focuses on Tony once more, and he is caught off guard. He can see the shining happiness and love in those green depths, and he realizes that his reservations are foolish and silly. The words try toe scape, but there's no need for them. Tony just smiles, nods, and the moment is over. He knows.

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><p><strong>4: Fix You - Coldplay -<strong>

Tony didn't go into this mess with any illusions of what it may or may not mean. He wasn't expecting flowery words of love and devotion, even if he wanted them. All he expected was a warm body, a few intimate moments when they could be managed, and really, really fantastic sex. He had gotten all of the things he expected .. but it's not enough. Not anymore.

He glances down at the silvery mop of hair that tickles across his bare chest where Gibbs' head is resting. He knows that the older man can hear the soft rhythm of his heart, and he can only hope that it is a comfort to the sleeping man. After all, what other comfort could he ever offer his Boss? They are damaged goods. Maybe that's why this works so well; they are damaged beyond repair, so a little more hurt and destruction won't really mean anything. He can survive the fire of Gibbs' dispassionate touch and crawl back begging for more. Gibbs can accept the harsh caress of hands that cannot punish those truly responsible for the ruination of Tony's life and still welcome the younger man back into his arms and into his bed.

They are the mutual destruction of each other and it is beautiful and tragic all at the same time. They can cry, sob for the loss of life and innocence they have both felt at different points of their lives, and turn tears into cries of orgasmic delight. But never, -never- will they fix one another.

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><p><strong>5: Enter Sandman - Metallica -<strong>

Gibbs hates to sleep. To sleep is to dream, and to dream is to be plunged beneath the sands of his own personal hell. In the beginning, dreams were sweet, littered with the possibilities of a long life with Shannon stretched out before him. But that ended far too soon, and dreams became nightmares of failed sniper missions and the loss of his family. Hell, by any other name.

Dreams then morphed, a strange, twisted dreamscape of Tony in a blue room with cracked lips and ragged breaths; Kate with a bullet in her forehead and Tony sobbing as he struggles to wipe her blood off his face. Visions of explosions, bullet holes, and twisted, bound limbs. He dreams of death, heart breaking and permanent.

He begins to dream of Tony blown up in a car while on an undercover mission. The dream tears him apart inside, leaving him cold and ragged, until he awakens with a silent scream.

"Every thing okay, Boss?" The soft sound of Tony's sleepy voice pulls him from the remnant of his dream. Gibbs glances down to where Tony lays, naked save the sheet that entangles them together. Gibbs smiles slightly, giving a single nod of his head.

"Yeah, DiNozzo. Go back to sleep." Gibbs hates to dream .. especially when reality is so much better.

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><p><strong>6: Don't Speak - No Doubt<strong>

"24 hours, DiNozzo. You have twenty four hours, and if I find out you've broken those 24 hours, there will be hell to pay." Gibbs voice is unusually cold and harsh today as he stares down his Senior Field Agent. The younger man's desk is the only thing that separates the two at the moment. They are both aware of McGee, Ziva, and Abby all standing there, oppressed beneath the strain that seems to exist between the two older men.

"Two words. That's all you get, DiNozzo, then you have 24 hours." The Italian man looks as if he will break under the stress of what Gibbs is trying to tell him. His frantic, wide green eyes jerk over, sweeping across his friends and teammates, as if begging one of them to stick up for him. He can tell, however, by the wide, frightened eyes that meet his that he's on his own. Cowards! Every last one of them! He huffs angrily and sinks into his seat, feeling defeated by the intense gaze of the man he secretly loves and hates. Truly, he can now see that the second B in Gibbs stands for bastard, cause it's totally true! Only a bastard could ask such an impossible thing of him!

"Yes, Boss." He gives the two word answer, and Gibbs slowly straightens up on the other side of the desk, a look of cool triumph written across his handsome features. The other agents will not answer, but he can feel the question emanating from them. He looks toward them with one of those rare, bright smiles.

"Tony cannot speak for exactly 24 hours. He lost a bet." With that, the older man swaggers out of the bullpen. The moment the elevator doors close, the other three swarm Tony. Abby's hand connects with the back of his head in a Gibbs' slap, and she shakes her head slowly.

"Never bet Gibbs, Tony."

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><p><strong>7: Silver and Cold - AFI -<strong>

The moon is a giant medallion of silver in the dark, cold night of midwinter. It lights up the night sky like a beacon, drawing him closer and closer to his destination. A sea of headstones stretch out endlessly before him and he knows that he shouldn't be here. The funeral had been held a week before, and he could bring himself to be there then. What would be the point? A well autopsied corpse would go into the ground, the one that he loved long since departed from the body. Worms and maggots would feast on the flesh when the coffin was gone, and that would be that. The life that he had treasured had been stolen the moment the bullet entered the man's heart.

God, he still wakes up screaming when he thinks about it. The feel of his lips, cold and unresponsive beneath him as blood leaked from his chest. The blood, it was warm and gummy as it saturated his hands when he tried to apply pressure on the wound. Nothing worked .. slowly, the heart gave out and the life evaporated from those beautiful blues.

"I'm sorry, Boss. I should've had your six." Tony whispers the last words, his good bye, before collapsing against the grave in tears.

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><p><strong>8: Hurt - Johnny Cash -<strong>

Another visit from Anthony DiNozzo Sr. has left Anthony DiNozzo junior a live wire of pain and defeat. Agony and depression wells within him, and he knows that it's a losing battle. He is always raw and damaged when his Father leaves, and he knows it will never get better.

He's a fool .. freak .. good for nothing .. showboat, show off, idiot .. so many words to describe one thing; failure. He is nothing more than a taint, a soiled speck on the otherwise 'flawless' DiNozzo name. He laughs bitterly as he props himself against the bathroom door. A bottle of bourbon is uncapped on the counter beside the sink, and he knows that Gibbs will miss it when he goes to work on his boat. His Boss/Lover usually gives him space when he knows Tony needs it. But then, they had not been together the last time his Father had paid him a visit. Gibbs didn't realize that there would be shattered pieces to pick up.

"Damned failure." Tony spits the words at his ragged reflection before his fingers tighten on the pocket knife, knuckles white with exertion. The knife jerks in an arch, biting into the skin of his wrist, bringing a wince as blood slowly flows down his skin. At least this pain was in his control.

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><p><strong>9: Family Portrait - Pink -<strong>

The pretty wooden frame was made by Gibbs, of course. The man could take an piece of rough, ugly wood and create something beautiful out of it. It was smooth cherry wood, with an abstract pattern etched around it in pretty designs. The picture inside it was just as beautiful. Tony and Jethro are embraced; Jethro is sitting in a chair, Tony's arms thrown around him from behind. Their defenses are down; looks of loving adoration softening their features as they pose. They look good together.

A fact that has never escaped Tony.

He puts that picture down and picks up another. It's a two dollar wooden frame that is ugly, gaudy .. nothing that he would care two cents about. The picture inside is even less important. A family portrait of sorts; 12 year old Tony sitting in front of a cake with no candles. His Mother was gone, his Father didn't give a damn about him .. his nanny had been the one to snap the picture, and she was only there because she was paid to be.

"Everything okay, Tone?" The concern is palpable in the words, and it brings a small smile to Tony's lips as he sets the picture down. He can feel the arms go around him, and his eyes flutter closed as he enjoys the moment.

"Perfect, Jeth." He murmurs. The past doesn't matter. He has all the family he could ever need now; brothers, sisters, and a love that will never fade.

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><p><strong>10: I'll Be Okay - Swirl 360 -<strong>

The sounds of the hospital are deafening in their overwhelming loudness. People rushing about, others complaining, orders shouted here and there. Even in the waiting room, the sounds are deafening. People sobbing, whispering prayers to a deity that cannot or will not reply. Out of the corner of his tear stained eyes, he can see a group of mismatched people approaching, and his heart hitches painfully. His team .. his family. Ziva and McGee plop onto a chair either side of him. Palmer, wide eyed and dazed, is leaning into Ducky ever so slightly, looking for strength from the wizened older man that has no doubt experienced things like this before. The only one missing is Abby.

She's not really missing, though. She's at the nurse's station for the tenth time in the last hour and a half, demanding news that will not come any quicker for complaining. But who can blame her? If it would help, he'd be up there screaming his head off, demanding answers as well. If feels like ages since he's taken his last breath. When he inhales, it is ragged, painted by the burning emotions he can't seem to hold at bay any longer. It feels as if he's swallowed fire and it's burning him from the inside out.

She's approaching. A slow, stumbling step that robs him of all sense as the worst case scenarios begin to scream in his brain. It's over. He wants to hold his hands up, push her away, tell her to shut the hell up before she can even breathe a word, anything to put the inevitable at bay. She drops to her stocking knees and looks up at him from beneath her choppy black bangs. Her eyes are red, puffy from tears and emotion and he has an irrational desire to slap her for daring to look at him when she's bringing such bad news. How does he know it's bad? One of those infamous gut feelings. She takes him by the hands, looking down at them. They are shaking uncontrollably, and he tries to steel himself for what's coming.

"Tony .. Tony's dead." The words are a sledgehammer to his heart, and the tears fall in fat drops down his stubble covered cheeks. Tony's gone. He glances silently down at the ring on his finger .. he yanks it off with surprising ease and slides it into her hand, closing her fingers over it. He stands, still silent, still crying, and exits the hospital waiting room. Mexico wouldn't be far enough to erase the pain this time.


	2. Sequel  One of Ten  Chapter 1

**Title:** One of Ten

**Pairing: **Tibbs - Tony/Gibbs

**Rating: **Mature for dark themes

**Summary:** _A expansion to my tenth drabble in Ten of One: 10: I'll Be Okay - Swirl 360. _

**Author's note: **This expansion of the Tenth drabble is dedicated to TonyDiNozzo42, for the wonderful review that urged me to go further. I hope you enjoy it!

**AN 2: **Haven, Alaska may or may not exist. For the purpose of this story, it's a fictitious town of my creation.

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><p><strong>1. <strong>_**Leave It All Behind**_** -**

Leroy Jethro Gibbs had done exactly what he promised himself he would the moment that Abby had announced Tony was dead; he had gone home, packed the few things he decided to keep and got the hell out of DC. He had gone in the extreme opposite of Mexico, having finally realized just how much his 'retirement' there had hurt his friend and Senior Field Agent. He would not piss on Tony's memory by running there again.

Contrary to popular belief, he was semi capable of functioning with electronic devices. He had e-mailed his resignation to Vance, though he had not bothered to e-mail anyone else he had called friend. He would like to say that it was because he was being noble, not wanting to take out on them his terrible temper and self-deprecating self destruction that would come after losing someone he was so closed to, but in all truth, he just didn't have the strength or willpower to tell them good bye. They were still raw and broken from Tony. It would be easier for him to just ... slip away. They had lost a friend, he had lost the man he had come to love, but been too much of a bloody coward to say anything to. His one chance at something that may have been profound, epic, and beautiful, was gone. How could he stare at the blank screen of his computer and compose letters to those that had also lost Tony, without letting the entire, horrible truth come tumbling out?

So, he had gone straight home and down into his basement. Sitting there, of course, was the latest boat. THE Boat, as far as he was concerned, since it was the one had been teaching Tony woodwork with. He couldn't count how many hours had been spent sharing bourbon and secrets with his Senior Field Agent as they sanded, bore, sawed, fitted, and slatted together to create the beautiful masterpiece that was unfolding down in that dank, dusty, dark old room. Everyone on the team, as well as Fornell, a few Ex-Wives, and a few friends, had questioned how the hell he got them out of the basement; now, no one would ever know. He had been prepared to pass on that secret once he and Tony finished The Boat. He had every intention of letting his SFA name it, fully prepared for it to be dubbed with some kind of movie reference name, but it was going to be Tony's boat, so he could've named it anything he wanted to. Gibbs had daydreamed of the astonishment, and the wacky reference, Tony would've made when the big secret was revealed. He had imagined far more, as well, of course. That they might share a first kiss upon it's completion, when they were swept up in the moment of creation and bonding. It didn't even have to be a kiss! Just a moment where their hands brush and neither let go. Something to signify that there might be something deeper and meaningful, worth pursuing.

All of that is gone now. So, he had taken one last glance at his boat, dumped the old hand made tools into a heap on top of it and lit a match. He stayed long enough to watch it become a ragged, jutting carcass of charred wood before he put it out. The dousing of those flames was symbolic, as well as cathartic; it was the dousing of what little hope at love and passion remained within him. He reached for the bottle of bourbon that was always there, waiting, and stopped mid lift, before realizing that that was a part of an old, now dead, life. The bottle had been smashed against the wall, the meager contents sloshing down the wall to the ground as he turned, grabbed his bag, and left.

From there, it had been one bus ticket after another, paid for in cash. No paper trail. He had no desire for McGee and Abby to team up and track him down. He would only break their hearts when he told them to go away and never contact him again. It would be a second betrayal, after his leaving the hospital, and he doesn't think any of them could really survive that. Their hearts had been ripped out by the death of the goofy clown that held their strange little family together; none of them could handle that happening again. Or, maybe, he really is a bastard, and he's just using them as an excuse. That seems more like it, actually.

Bus after bus ... a steady diet of fast food and bottled water ... transient souls migrating from place to place, a different sea of faces every few days ... it was a depressing tapestry of hopelessness that seemed to represent his life so perfectly now that Tony is gone. He did not consciously decide where he was going, only knew that he was going North. So, imagine his surprise when he stumbled across a small destination for Haven, Alaska. In the end, it seemed perfect. What a better place for a second chance ... than a haven?

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><p><strong>2. <strong>_**Three Years Later**_** -**

Haven, Alaska; Population 360. It is a small, wooded island off the mainland. It is not big on tourism, though there are more than a few fishermen running down wild Salmon. Small Mom'N'Pop stores dot the main street, which houses all of five businesses. The main road runs from one end of town to the other, a wharf at either end cluttered with boats of every size and kind, ranging from those that help their owners make a living, to those that are purely entertainment. Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Jeth to most in Haven, has a personal fishing boat anchored at one and a small handmade sail boat at the other. It is not a boat of his own making, but one he bought when he arrived in town. Despite the alimony payments, he had a nice little nest egg that he used to start over, make a new life for himself. The payments were still made, but he made damn sure that they couldn't be traced back to where he lives.

He will not tolerate the old world breaking into the vague sense of comfort in his new world.

It is a pleasant summer afternoon with temperatures in the high 60's, low 70's; a slow wind is meandering through the trees and a part of the population has gathered for a fourth of July festival. A few streamers of color hang from the old fashioned buildings of wood, undulating in the breeze. The local grocery store, owned by none other than Jeth himself, has donated steaks and trimmings for the festivities. Jeth currently stands over an open fire, 'Cowboy steaks' cooking away. The sound of children laughing and men and women gossiping up and down the paved street means very little to him. It does nothing to penetrate the cloud of maudlin reflection he seems to fall in to from time to time when the all too familiar bogs him down. Some part of his mind is dedicated to watching the steaks, but the rest of his mind? It is stuck in the throes of memories that were once happy and beloved and are now tainted.

How many times had Tony showed up with a case of beer to split between them while Gibbs made Cowboy steak in his fireplace? How many times had they let the stress of a recently solved case bleed away while they ate and drank in comfortable silence? And how the fuck does Gibbs reconcile the fact that it will never happen again, with reality? It seems a perverse lie, the death of Tony DiNozzo, and his mind still refuses to accept it. The others in town whisper that something from Jeth's past is killing him, eating away at him from the inside out like a cancer, and many lament the day he will simply fade away. But there is nothing they can do to save him. They are doomed to watch as he passes.

He flips the steaks with halfhearted attention, a spray of aroma causing his nose to wrinkle, a blast of heat bringing a thin sheen of tears to his eyes as he tries to remain in the moment, rather than floating away in a maudlin sea of memory. He reaches for the bottle of water next to him, his gaze momentarily fixed on a bottle of beer chilling in a cooler a few feet away. God, but he wants to attack that bottle and down it in a single gulp! However, he had made himself a bit of a promise; when he left, he left behind all of those things that could once be associated with his old life. He no longer drinks, works with wood, or any of those things. His life is now leisurely, and while that is killing him in some ways, it has also made it possible for him to get up day after day and continue on.

"Mr. Gibbs?" The soft, adolescent voice takes him by surprise and he turns those cool, inexpressive eyes on the little girl that is staring up at him with a big smile. "Mom didn't get enough plates. She gave me this, for you, to buy more, please." He watches the kid fish out a ten dollar bill, and he probably would've given at least a small smile back in the old days. Instead, he just waves a hand dismissively at the kid.

"Take it back. It's on me." He glances at the steaks, flipping them the final time before he turns and walks quickly into his store. The door had been propped open in case he needed to duck in and grab anything. A few minutes later, he reappears, handing the 80 count, bright package of paper plates to the youth before he returns to the task at hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Gibbs. I'll tell Mom it's almost done." The kid flashes another smile and then takes off. Not surprisingly, it seems the kids in town didn't think twice about his gruff, quiet exterior. And yet, even the adults didn't seem as dissuaded by his personality as they had in his old life. He watches the child run back to her mother before he turns his attention back to the food. His thoughts are once more trying to find their way to that dark place, but they never have the chance to get there. The sound of a plane chugging overhead draws the attention of all those gathered, every head whipping around and up to watch the clear skies as a small plane cruises over the town, headed to the small air strip on the edge of the island.

Maybe it's a reemergence of that famous Gibbs gut ... maybe it's a sense of paranoia at the small tatters of comfort he has reclaimed ... or maybe it's just a sense of doom that has overshadowed him since Tony's death, but the moment he saw that plane he knew someone was here for him. Why, or who it would be, he has no clue. He lowers his gaze back toward the platter that was being held out toward him, and he quickly forks the steaks on to it before he turns and heads into his store.

Twenty minutes later, he's not surprised to see two silhouettes blocking out the sun in his store's doorway. He finishes cleaning down the counter, tossing the old cloth to the side as he lifts his weary gaze toward the two black trench encased figures.

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs?" A man with a smoky, abrupt voice wheezes, the largest silhouette stepping forward to produce a middle aged man with a puckered mouth and sallow cheeks.

"Who's asking?" The words could almost be described as petulant, bitter. It is a name he does not often hear in it's entirety these days, and the uttering of such has left him feeling old and worn out in the course of moments.

"I'm Marshal Eric Anderson, and this is my Deputy, Erron Jackson. We need to speak with you." Jeth sighs softly, a clipped, annoyed sign of agitation, before he gives a jerky nod of his head. The Marshal steps forward, flashing his badge, before he sets a folder down in front of Gibbs. The older man opens it, reaching down to spread a handful of photos out in front of him. His lips compress into a tight line of white hot anger.

"You're looking at a few photos of Stanley Markim. He's currently a member of witness protection. We have been keeping a close eye on him, but as of 0600 two Friday, he has fallen off even -our- radars. We have reason to believe he was abducted. We need you and your old NCIS team to rendezvous with our Agents at what we believe to be the crime scene." Usually, the thought of helping out another Agency went against most of his rules. However, he glances back down at the half a dozen photos. Each one depicts a sparkling, green eyed man with perfect teeth and a beautiful smile that could probably light up an entire room with little trouble. He knew those eyes .. he had seen them lit up and filled with sadness; he had seen the truth and the lies in those eyes for nearly 10 years. The man that always had his six ...

"Anthony DiNozzo Junior." Gibbs speaks the words out loud, hiding the desperation he feels to have some kind of validation about the truth and reality of what he's seeing. The Marshal glances at his partner, and then gives a quick nod.

"Yes, Mr. Gibbs. Stanley Markim was once Anthony DiNozzo Junior. The US Marshal's service faked his death three years ago and placed him in witness protection. Now you see why we need your help."


End file.
